


how long before you're coming back?

by hoppnhorn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Frottage, Gay Billy Hargrove, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, jerking off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: "Steve." Billy repeats, his lips parted, asking, so obvious. Steve wonders how he'd missed all the signs, if there were any. His own cheeks tingle with a blush as he thinks of all the moments he'd bickered with Billy in his car, thinking they were acquaintances and nothing more. But this, thishungeron Billy's face, isn't something that justhappensin a moment. Steve knows. Steve's seen Robin hide her red cheeks and smiles.He's seen the very same desperation on her face as he sees on Billy's now.





	how long before you're coming back?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaVeraceVia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVeraceVia/gifts).

> soooo this was supposed to be a 2K piece for the wonderful Jo, but it ran away with me and I overshot that by a lot. heh. Oops. Also, it's very late so thank you so much for putting up with my tardy butt. I hope you enjoy!

When Steve pulls up to the curb on Cherry Lane, Billy's sitting on camping chair, the sun barely over the horizon and dew still shining on the lawn. 

Steve stares at him, perched there in only a pair of shorts and sunglasses and sort of, well. 

Wants to drive away. 

The only reason he ever sees Billy anymore is because the asshole still can’t drive, and that’s inconvenient when he has physical therapy every other week with Owens. So. Steve is the schlub who wound up with the task of carting his ass to every appointment.

8am, sharp. 

But today, for some reason, Billy is nearly naked on the Hargrove front lawn instead of  _ ready _ . He’s not even wearing shoes and Steve knows that will probably take a hundred years, let alone getting Billy into a  _ shirt _ . 

“You gonna get out or just sit there, pretty boy?” Billy calls from his spot, inhaling on what is  _ probably _ a joint. The guy has a thing for riling the neighborhood. 

Or pissing Steve off. 

Or both.

“Get your shit and get in, you have therapy in fifteen minutes.” Steve shouts through a lowered window. Because  _ fuck Billy _ , telling him to get out of the car like he’s in charge. 

Hargrove hisses out a cloud of smoke and shakes his dumb head. 

“Nope. I’m not goin’ today.” 

And, really, that was the part where Steve should have just  _ left _ . Taken a hint, sped away in a cloud of  _ fuck you _ and gone home. 

But, unfortunately, he’s spent enough time with Billy in recent weeks to know when the guy is putting up a front. And this whole  _ nonchalant _ thing is  _ definitely _ a front for something else. So, since he’s actually a decent person, Steve turns off the car and grunts when he stands, crosses the wet yard to loom over Billy. 

The guy tilts his head back to look at him and Steve finally sees the bloom of purple under his sunglasses. It doesn’t take much to do the math. 

“Fuck.” He hisses. Billy snorts, his mouth caught in something like a sneer, and he sucks on the joint between his fingers. 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” He murmurs while he lets the smoke leak from his lips. “Sorry you drove over. I got all the way out here and didn’t think to call.” 

The apology doesn’t shock Steve as much as it once would have, because it’s something Billy is slowly getting better at. Muttering his thanks or his apologies. Usually when he’s been a shit and Steve’s only  _ trying _ to help. This, though -- this is laced with sadness and it makes something in Steve’s gut swirl with anger. 

“Owens told you to call if things got bad again.” He says, cryptically, for Billy’s sake. Or pride or something. He’d never asked enough questions about Billy’s home life to know just how  _ bad _ it was when Owens told him it’d been  _ difficult _ for Billy growing up. But now he’s beginning to think that maybe Billy’s bad attitude had always been a symptom of a much larger problem. 

“So what, he can show up with his lawyers and place me in some safe house or  _ lab _ somewhere?” Billy hisses. “Yeah, that sounds like a great solution, Harrington. Thanks.”

His tolerance for Billy’s bullshit is at an all time low when Steve snatches the sunglasses off his face without warning, barely getting a startled  _ stare _ from Billy before he seems to catch up and look away.

But not fast enough. 

His eye is nearly swollen shut, which explains the slow reaction, and the skin above it is split and scabbed over. 

“Jesus, Billy.” He says, without really thinking it through, and Billy hauls himself out of the chair, wincing slightly from pain. Pain that ripples out from all over his scarred torso. 

“Fuck off—“

“Your eye could be damaged from this shit.” Steve says, leaning in and gently cupping Billy’s jaw. “I mean, mine was half this bad and my eye doctor told me I could have  _ blind _ spots…” 

He doesn’t realize that Billy's not pulling away until he feels him leaning in further -- Billy isn’t goddamn  _ breathing _ , let alone running. He’s frozen, like a startled animal, his good eye open and wide, trained on Steve’s face. 

Rather, Steve’s mouth, hovering just to the side of Billy’s lips. Out of reach but close enough that the proximity could be misconstrued as  _ intimate _ . Steve takes a small step back, dropping his hands, and he sees Billy inhale while a pink blush spreads across his neck. 

“Sorry.” He mutters before Billy can  _ freak _ but it doesn’t seem to matter. He stumbles away, the color in his neck rapidly spreading to his chest as he plucks the little camp chair off the lawn. 

“Whatever. I’m going inside.” Billy says as he starts for the house, stronger than before but still a little hobbled from being  _ impaled _ . It’s a miracle he can walk, really. And Steve sort of marvels at him for a moment, his heart smacking against his ribs. 

“Hey, let me…” He finally snaps to motion, running to open the front door. But Billy won’t even  _ look _ at him. He ducks away and grumbles something under his breath about  _ not being a girl _ and Steve follows him into the house. Watches him put away the chair and put his joint out in an ashtray. 

“Billy, you should have that looked at.” Steve finally says, softer than the chiding mother he  _ feels _ like and more hesitant.

“I’ll be fine, Harrington.” Billy grunts. “S’nothing I haven’t handled before.” 

“You have nerve damage and like, organ scarring and shit.” Steve snaps, pissed at someone but not the punching bag in front of him, barely holding his  _ strong _ act together. “You need to be relaxing and healing, not fucking  _ handling _ a nasty hit to the face!” 

Without asking, without  _ pausing _ he stomps towards the back of the house, all too at home in a place he’s only been inside once or twice. Billy’s shouts of protest are swallowed up by a labyrinth of walls and doorways as Steve finally finds the kitchen. He rips open the freezer and plucks a bag of frozen mixed vegetables from the door without skipping a beat. 

Nancy would call him a mother hen. 

Dustin would call him presumptuous. 

When he starts back to the living room, Billy is only a few feet from where he’d started, his hands grasping the back of a chair as he holds himself up. His chest is bright red, like it’s on fire, and Steve rushes forward to grab one of his arms. 

“Jesus, you okay?” 

“I’m fucking  _ fine _ . I just…can’t get too worked up.” He sniffs, like he’s trying to hold back a whine of pain. “I get lightheaded.” 

The admission comes out sad, almost ashamed, and Steve ignores it altogether in favor of holding out the bag of frozen vegetables. 

“Put this on your face. You should go to bed.” He says, not gently but not unkind. Just enough gruff to sound like normal. Like Billy is still an asshole that Steve doesn’t really  _ like _ , even though that’s definitely not the case. 

Not  _ really _ .

Like, sure. He’s surly and rough around the edges, but he’s not  _ bad _ . He can’t actually think badly of Billy, not even when his mind touches on the night at the Byers house. Not anymore. Not after watching a monster impale him until he collapsed in a heap. Not after watching Billy sacrifice himself to  _ save _ El. 

“I don’t need help.” Billy grunts at him but Steve slings an arm around his hips anyway, braces some of Billy’s weight to walk him back into his bedroom. He’s never been in Billy’s room before but he’s seen Billy materialize from that side of the house. He’s shocked, however, when they step inside. 

It’s nicer than he’d imagined. There’s a couch on one side, with a pillow and blanket on it like someone’s taken to sleeping there. And plants. A few flowers. Most are in vases, but a couple are in small pots, placed in front of windows for the sun. 

His room looks like a safe haven, with books stacked up on one nightstand and a light clipped to the bed. 

His room is warm in a house full of impersonal. 

“Max did all the rearranging in here.” Billy says, no doubt noticing Steve take a moment to look around. “The flowers are a little much.” 

“They’re nice.” 

“Yeah. All the ladies from the pool…” Billy smiles and laughs a little, color lifting just a little to his cheeks. “They think I was in a car accident.” With a hand, Billy reaches out to touch a particular arrangement of lilies. “The lilies are from El.” 

Steve chews on the inside of his cheek, fighting off the feeling of  _ loss _ when he thinks about the Byers family, packing up all their things and leaving Hawkins. He thinks of El, hugging them all goodbye.

“She’s a good kid.” He manages, and Billy nods in agreement. 

“Yeah.” He stares at the flowers a moment longer before he lifts his head and presses the frozen bag back in place. “You don’t have to babysit me if you’ve got shit to do. I’m fine.” 

“I don’t have anything to do.” Steve offers, like suddenly he wouldn’t mind  _ hanging out _ . Even though that was the last thing he’d imagined doing that morning. “You should let me take you to Owens.” He tries again. 

Billy groans, then sits gingerly on his bed. 

“I can handle it, Harrington. Drop it.” His voice isn’t  _ angry _ for the first time all morning and Steve takes it as Billy asking for his silence. For his trust.

“Will you let me look at least?” Steve tries instead. When Billy rolls his good eye, Steve quickly interjects with, “It would make me feel better.”

It must do the trick because Billy’s jaw snaps closed and he chews his lip. Then, with barely a shrug of a shoulder, he says, “Whatever.” 

Sitting next to Billy on the bed feels oddly private, even as he tries to focus on the issue at hand. Busted eye. Billy lowers the frozen bag and Steve leans in, not as close as he  _ could _ but close enough to see. 

The swelling is still bad but the bleeding from his eyebrow was probably much  _ much _ worse. Face wounds tend to bleed; as Steve would know. He’s ruined a few shirts from fights that didn’t go his way. And all because of his face. 

Without thinking, Steve lifts a hand to gently touch the scabbed cut, but remembers how Billy had looked when he’d touched him last time. Part of him wants to drop his hand, find an excuse to leave and rush back to his car. 

But a part of him doesn’t want that. Part of him is  _ eager _ when he reaches out, gently touches Billy’s brow. 

“You should let me close this up.” He murmurs. But Billy doesn’t answer. Billy is watching him with one eye trained, pulse beating hard in his neck. “It could open again.” 

“It’s fine.” Billy barely speaks, more like  _ breathes _ , the words. “I’m fine.” 

“Would you stop saying  _ fine _ .” Steve says, shaking his head. “Nothing about what’s happened to you is fine.” When Billy doesn’t argue, the silence stretches thin. “I’m sorry he hit you.” Steve adds, bizarrely, like he actually owes Billy some sort of apology. Or comfort. But he keeps stroking a thumb over the skin under his brow anyway, keeps leaning in close.

“Harrington—“

“Steve.” He says gently before adding, “I think we’ve known each other long enough to be on a first name basis.” 

Billy’s breath seems to catch and it makes Steve eager to lean in closer. To chase the flush that plummets down his neck. 

“Steve.” Billy repeats, his lips parted, asking, so obvious. Steve wonders how he’d missed all the signs, if there were any. His own cheeks tingle with a blush as he thinks of all the moments he’d bickered with Billy in his car, thinking they were acquaintances and nothing more. But this, this  _ hunger _ on Billy’s face, isn’t something that just  _ happens _ in a moment. Steve knows. Steve’s seen Robin hide her red cheeks and smiles. 

He’s seen the very same desperation on her face as he sees on Billy’s now. 

When he leans forward and presses his lips to Billy’s forehead, he seems to startle, like he can’t even  _ contemplate _ what’s happening. He blinks when Steve pulls back, only to close his eyes when Steve leans in again, presses a similar kiss to the side of Billy’s injured eye. 

The tension in Billy’s posture bleeds out of him with a sigh -- he melts into Steve’s space, his face going slack.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Steve says honestly, cupping Billy jaw to pull him closer. His mouth brushes gently over his cheekbone. His cheek. He trails dry, chaste kisses across Billy’s cheek until he finds his mouth. 

Billy looks at him momentarily, pupils blown wide and lashes low, and his lips part on a silent plead for more. 

Steve is smiling when he seals their mouths together. Tender and warm, he kisses Billy like he’s wanted to be kissed for months. Years, probably. He hasn’t been kissed like this since Nancy and the heat in his gut tells him the sweetness is long overdue. 

When he pulls away, Billy doesn’t open his eyes. But he does speak. 

“One more.” He murmurs. And Steve chuckles quietly before he obliges, this time with more zeal, a little more pressure.

Billy moans and Steve’s body vibrates with longing, his hands shaking with it when he cups Billy’s jaw with his other hand. When he opens his mouth, Billy’s parts easily for him, lets him lick into the heat of him. Steve plies at him with his tongue, teases more moans from Billy’s pretty lips. 

Then suddenly Billy is jerking away. 

“Harrington—” 

“Steve.” He reminds him, before sealing their mouths again to chase the euphoria lighting up his skin. 

“Steve…” Billy pants between kisses, hands greedy in Steve’s hair. It’ll probably look like hell later but he isn’t the least concerned. “I’m...I…” 

When they part, Billy’s face is full pink, his chest broken out in a similar hue of blotchy red. 

“Shit, sorry.” He immediately sputters into apologies, watching Billy fight to  _ breathe _ . “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not your fault.” Billy counters. “I just haven’t...in a while.” He hesitates. 

And then Steve  _ sees _ . 

Like, really sees, how Billy’s body has betrayed his desire for  _ more _ . Under his loose shorts, Billy’s cock strains for attention, tenting at the front. Steve stares for what can only be a moment, and then Billy is covering himself up with the bedspread. 

“Oh.” Steve says softly. Billy looks away, grinds on his jaw like he’s coming up with something to  _ yell _ before Steve follows up with, “It’s okay.” 

Billy doesn’t look at him. 

“It’s been a while for me too.” He adds, scooting closer, growing bold. When Billy glances at him, his face goes slack in disbelief.

“What about that chick you work with?” 

“Robin?” Steve grins. “I’m not her type.” 

Billy snorts. 

“Sure.” 

Feeling  _ brave _ , Steve shoves Billy at the shoulders, clamoring over him when he falls on his back. Billy looks stunned, then positively  _ seen _ when Steve straddles his waist, pins him down with a stare. 

“Trust me. We’re just friends.” Steve purrs. “And I’m pretty out of practice.” 

There is really no  _ hiding _ that anymore anyway, his pants tight across his hips as he hovers over Billy on the bed. Billy can see the hard line of him in his jeans and he licks across his bottom lip to wet it, shiny and pink. 

“Wanna…?” Billy offers, his hands timidly brushing up Steve’s thighs. 

Steve answers with a kiss, heated but careful as Billy lies prone. They lick into each other, sucking and nibbling and moaning with delight. And Steve, well. He gets  _ greedy _ , lowering his weight onto Billy’s crotch to make him  _ groan _ . 

They move like lovers, rubbing and grinding and pulling at each other despite the clothes barring their skin. Steve hisses with frustration as his cock fills out and pangs against denim and Billy grunts as a wet spot appears on a shorts. But they don’t stop, they don’t break the spell that has them whispering praise and murmuring curses of pleasure.

It doesn’t take long. Barely a minute or two before they’re both desperately panting, Steve sucking a mark into Billy’s throat as he thrusts against his cock. 

“Steve.” Billy growls, throaty and  _ wrung out _ . “I’m—”

“Me too.” He agrees with a broken wheeze. “So close.” 

“Wait.” Billy whispers, then reaches for Steve’s pants. “You can’t walk around with a load in your pants.” He grins and Steve nods, helps him unzip his fly and shimmy his jeans down his hips.

For a moment, Billy looks shy, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as Steve strokes himself from root to tip. Long and hard and red, his cock hangs thick at his hips. 

Then Billy gives him a signature grin. 

“ _ King _ Steve, huh?” 

Steve can’t help but laugh and shove Billy flat against the bed again. “Yeah, yeah. My cock is big.”

“It’s  _ hot _ , Harrington.” Billy purrs. “The ladies must  _ love _ it. Big dick Steve fucking them with that fat cock.” 

“You sound jealous.” Steve murmurs, stroking himself steadily. “You jealous, Billy?” He asks, proud, and Billy licks his lips. Swallows. 

“So what if I am?” 

“Then I’ll have to fix that.” Steve answers truthfully. Looking down at Billy’s ruddy chest, his starburst scars, he touches him tenderly. “You’re hot too, by the way.” He whispers. 

Billy snorts. Bats at his hand. 

“Yeah sure.”

“Seriously.” Steve thrusts into his fist, makes sure the slide of his cock is wet and  _ audible _ when he looks down at Billy with hooded eyes. “You make my dick hard, Hargrove.” 

And, well. 

Billy looks pretty damn pleased with that. Steve touches his chest, is careful to avoid the marred areas as he brushes his fingertips over the skin. Plays with Billy’s nipples until he gasps. 

“Let me see all of you.” Steve asks. Billy complies with a quick tug on his shorts, wrapping a hand around his dick the second it’s freed. He isn’t  _ hung _ like Steve but his cock is still sizeable. Prettier than most with a peach complexion and rosy head. Steve’s never  _ admired _ another cock before, but Billy’s is as attractive as the rest of him. 

“Steve.” Billy pants, stroking himself faster. And Steve nods, reading him, finding a similar pace. Blinding and erratic, they stare as orgasms build on their breath, make them desperate. 

Billy goes first and his first low groan of euphoria is all it takes to send Steve tumbling after him, painting Billy’s chest with milky ribbons of his release. 

It’s filthy and impulsive, but Steve comes harder than he’s come in years, holding himself up with shaking arms when he can’t stand to touch his cock. 

Billy is smirking at him when their eyes finally meet.

“That beats physical therapy any day.” 

Steve wants to laugh, so he does. Winded and hard, he lets the sound out and flops onto his side, narrowly missing Billy’s chest. 

“Yeah.” He wheezes, pushing sweaty bangs off his forehead. “Yeah, it does.” Chancing a glance at Billy, he watches the color fade from his neck, his chest. His breathing evens out, finds a steady pace. When it seems  _ natural _ , Steve murmurs, “You okay?” 

Not that Billy doesn’t look  _ okay _ , but he does look like he ran a mile uphill. But in a good way.

Billy’s  _ glowing _ . 

“Relax, Harrington.” He groans, using a discarded t-shirt to wipe at his chest. “You didn’t  _ break _ me.” 

“Yet.” Steve retorts, grinning when Billy lifts an eyebrow in his direction. Then he laughs. Soft. And it’s sweeter than any laugh Steve’s heard from Billy’s lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on the tumbles [@hoppnhorn](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com) and the twitters [@hoppnhorn](https://twitter.com/hoppnhorn)


End file.
